


johndave drabbles

by bondingmoment



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, also my first fic posted on here, for my johndave drabbles, i guess explicit for later stories, so ye enjoy!!, this is just a little series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondingmoment/pseuds/bondingmoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just some drabbles !!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is my first fanfiction on here?? and its also my first time writing a fanfiction in second person ;v;. its just going to be some johndave drabbles and whatnot, following this challenge: https://kathrineroid.wordpress.com/2011/09/25/100-themes-challenge-writing-prompts/
> 
> so ye i hope you like it :^)

Your name is Dave Strider, and you just dumped a whole $4.95 down the motherfucking drain.

Let's back up a little. You walked into the local Starbucks, minding your own business. A chick from your Photography History class waved to you, so you waved back. Gotta give the ladies what they want, right? Anyways, the shop wasn't even that busy like it normally is, so you're first in line. It's usually crowded with tired, worn out college students who need the caffeine in their system to survive. You can't really talk, honestly. Let's just say that if you weren't getting this Iced Caffe Americano right now, you'd be passed out on the floor. After you hand the barista a five and tell him to keep the change, you wait. The drink doesn't take long to make, but it looks like they have a newbie at work, so you decided to scroll through your texts as you wait.

It's all boring shit to you. A message from your friend about some frat party you're invited to, some girl texting you about how some guy gave her your number because yeah, you're that cool. The usual, as always, because you're Dave Strider. People can't get enough of you: girls, guys, and everyone in between. 

You didn't even hear him walk up behind you. That's partially your fault, you have to admit, due to the fact you've had your earbuds in this entire time. The barista hands you your drink, apologizing for the wait. "It's all good," you say in reply, turning around to leave. 

It's mere seconds before you slam coffee-first into the guy behind you. "Oh shit-" he manages to blurt out before the coffee spills on the both of you. He falls to the ground, and you stumble back. You almost land on your ass, but you catch yourself. There goes your god damn coffee, but what you should be more worried about is the guy on the floor in front of you.

"Uh, sorry dude," is all you manage to get out. Striders aren't the best at apologizing. You realize the guy is still on the floor and you reach your hand out, waiting for him to take it. He does, and you pull him up. His glasses are crooked on his face and he adjusts them, squinting at you with blue eyes. There's a large coffee stain on his sweatshirt, and you feel bad. You don't normally feel bad for strangers, but you've dealt with coffee stains before, and they're an ass to deal with. "I'll pay for dry-cleaning and shit," you say, accessing the damage done. It mainly split on his jacket, but it probably got on his shirt, too. His jeans were okay, so just the jacket and shirt. 

"Don't worry about it," the black haired guy says, shrugging. After a few moments of awkward silence shared between the two of you, he holds out his hand. "I'm John Egbert," he says, and his mouth flips into a big grin. Your stomach does an odd flip, even though it was just a stupid smile. After a second you take his hand and shake it, though you prefer the method of fist bumping better. "Dave Strider. Sorry I spilled coffee on you," you reply, and he laughs. It's a lighthearted laugh; it's something that makes the air clearer. 

You think your stomach does a little flip again.

You both drop hands, and John reaches down to pick up your now empty coffee cup. He pulls a sharpie out of his back pocket (who even keeps sharpies in their pockets, you wonder) and he begins to scribble some stuff onto it. You watch as his eyebrows slightly furrow as he writes, and the way his front teeth nibble on his bottom lip. He hands you the cup, and you read what it says. "It has my apartment information on it, as well as my number. Maybe we could hang out sometime this week? Or like, come back here and get coffee because this time didn't turn out so well," John chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. 

You push your glasses back up your nose because somehow they slid down. You still look bomb as fuck doing it, though. "Sure, why not. I'm free this Thursday if you are," you say, raising your eyebrows at him. He nods enthusiastically, throwing you that smile. The right corner of your mouth twitches upwards, and you begin to walk out of the store. 

Thursday couldn't come any sooner.


	2. Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's.. complicated," you plea, hands gripping the edge of the counter.
> 
> "Complicated? I'll show you complicated," spat John, slamming the door, leaving you alone with the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh im sorry this is so late! things have been busy and such, but i hope ill be able to write some more soon. also sorry that this one isnt as happy, ahhaha,,,, :^)
> 
> please tell me if you find any errors and such!

It's been what, three months?

No, more like 115 days. It's been 115 days since John said he was done with you. 115 days since he walked out on you. "What an asshole," you mumble, crumpling yet another photo. Finals are coming up for the semester, and you just can't get the right picture. Too bright, too dim. Not enough character, too blurry. God damn, he's usually here to help you out with this shit, even if he had to study for his own upcoming tests. You don't even know why he blew up in your face.

Well, you do, but you don't want to think about it. The problem is that you can't get it off your mind. With a sigh, you snatch up your notebook, open it to a page that doesn't have your shitty handwriting on it, and start to scribble down notes. Maybe it'll calm your nerves.

Maybe.

 

\----------  
three months ago

 

"Dave. Dave. Dave Strider," John repeats, looking at you from across the couch. You've been so caught up in your drawing that you don't even hear him until the last time, and when you do look up, his eyes are narrowed and his lips are flipped into a frown. A cigarette is hanging out of his mouth- a habit you never picked up. "Are you even paying attention? You promised me that we'd get some time to hang out, but now look at you." His words hit your ears, but your eyes captured all he was behind your shades. His right knee is bent, elbow resting on it. His back is hunched over. He's in the perfect position for you to draw him.

"Wait, hold that thought. Stay still," you say, bringing your pencil up to tap your chin. A second passes and you're back to drawing, except your eyes are flickering from your paper to John. His scowl deepens, and before you know it he has plucked your notebook out of your hands. "Dude what the fuck is your problem," you grumble, hands reaching out to grab it from him. John proceeds to then throw your fucking 100$ sketchbook across the room like it was last weeks newspaper- or any newspaper at this rate who even reads that shit anymore. "Okay, stop it you shitloaf," you stand up while saying this, only to have John stand up in front of you. He's taller than you, and you're staring straight at his chin.

"I've been here for like, two hours, Dave. We've done shit nothing. All you've done is scribble in that dumb notebook or take pictures of me. That's all you do when we hang out. What the fuck," John complains, crossing his arms across his chest. Wait, has it really been two hours? You lean to the left to look past John and the clock and oh. He's right. "I didn't even realize dude, I'm sorry," you apologize, raising your hands up in defense. This apparently didn't help, because John is walking over to the book on the ground.

He's picking it up. He's picking up your private sketchbook that only you can look at because it's personal and it's your fucking sketchbook. "What do you even draw in here? Flowers?" John chuckles, flipping through the pages. He's a total hypocrite because he has an entire arm covered in tattoos of flowers. "Sometimes," you retort, closing the distance between you and him before he gets to the latest shit. "Oh, there's one. Ha, fucking knew i-" John stops short, stopping on a certain page.

Oh boy.

He glances over at you, eyes narrowing. He flips to another page, eyes soaking it in, and his jaw shifts. "Dave, care to explain why there are a bunch of drawings of me in your book?" John asks slowly, fingers brushing over the sketches. You can feel your cheeks heating up, and you wrack your brain for an answer. His voice is calm, but there's no telling with John. 

"I.. don't know? You're really fun to draw I guess, and we always hang out so it's good practice for me," you say slowly. You take a step forward, hand outstretched to take your notebook, but he pulls away. Hurt blankets his features, and now you know you've fucked up. "So we're just hanging out so you can get some drawing practice. You're using me as practice," the black haired boy accuses, eyes piercing into you. Fuck fuck fuck. "No, that's not what I meant at all John, please if you'd just listen t-" 

"No."

John cuts you off, and he drops your notebook to the ground. Your friend walks over to the front door, grabbing his drawstring as he goes. "John, quit being so god damn stubborn." Your words aren't going through to him, and you follow him. "It's.. complicated," you plea, hands gripping the edge of the counter. "Complicated? I'll show you complicated," spat John, slamming the door, leaving you alone with the silence. 

There you stand, staring blankly at the door. You've fucked up. Big time. 


End file.
